Who You Are
by XJackiefrostX
Summary: Living with the other horsemen isn't that much of a challenge unless your name is J. Daniel Atlas and you're running low on medication. Set right after the opening scene of NYSM but before the famous Vegas scene. First NYSM story.


Daniel was suffice to say, not having a very good day. He'd woken with an innate sense of foreboding; his ears buzzing, and forehead creased with tension. He opened his eyes to the bleary red numbers of his alarm clock signaling that it was barely half past four in the morning. His eyes burned with the minuscule amount of light making him shut them tightly bringing moisture to the surface. He gave deep shuddering breaths attempting to keep the nausea at bay and reduce the pain emanating from his skull. He swallowed back bile as he sat up, fingers clutching his covers firmly. His body ached as he threw off the covers and made the arduous trek across his room to the bathroom, the few steps sending pinpricks up his toes and legs.

He clutched the bathroom sink tightly willing the nausea to pass and rested his head gently against the cool surface of his mirror. Deeming his dizzy spell over with he chanced a look at himself in the mirror.

Even without his contacts or lenses he could see how unwell he looked. Sweat beaded across his forehead, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his scalp and nape of his neck. His worn gray sleep shirt attached to him like a second skin the sweat making it damp and uncomfortably cool against his chest. The most worrying feature though had to be the dark circles around his eyes that stood out prominently against his pale skin, a sign of too many restless nights.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and allowed himself a self-suffering sigh. He knew this would happen sooner or later, quietly dreading the inevitable for the past couple of weeks. Reaching inside his medicine cabinet he produced a little orange bottle. He shook the contents gently noticing the distinct lack of pings. It had been a long shot anyway, knowing from the beginning that it was empty, having rationed out the pills to death for the past 6 months. He had two left in the pocket of his navy jacket hidden in a small tightly sealed bag. He'd just have to tough it out until he got more because those were only for emergencies and he could go a bit longer before it got to a point where he was desperate.

Placing the bottle back into the medicine cabinet he traded it for the bottle of ibuprofen shaking out four into his palm and knocking them back dry not trusting himself with water just yet. He sat himself on the edge of the tub elbows to his knees, gripping his head. The pain began to slowly diminish but he could still feel the built-up pressure behind his eyes. He suppressed a noise of irritation and reasoned that this was probably as good as it was going to get. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his pajama pants wrinkling his nose in disgust. He really needed to shower, he could already feel his skin crawling just thinking of the sweat that he was practically drenched in which also wasn't helping his already weak stomach.

He bare feet padded over to his closet choosing comfort over luxury for once, pulling out a faded blue long sleeve and a dark knitted cardigan he'd had for years that had begun fraying at the edges. He debated on pants before ultimately choosing a pair of dark fitted sweats over slacks. He reasoned with himself that it wasn't like he had any real intention of interacting with the others or leaving his room for that matter. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand on the way into the bathroom he adjusted the brightness to something a little more comfortable to his sensitive eyes. Going through his contacts he shot off a short message that read "Are you in town?". He knew better than to expect a message immediately, so he turned off his screen.

He rested his clothes on his sink, arranging them neatly so that the folded edges lined up placing his phone on top. He turned his shower on as hot as it would go hoping the heat would do something for his sore body. He stripped his shirt off first, the fabric damp and suffocating as he pulled it over his head making his already sore arms tingle. His pants and boxers followed until he was left naked and clutching his damp clothing, taking care to fold them and leave them on the toilet lid. Steam had begun filling the room fogging up the mirror and making the air dense with moisture. He slipped into the shower the scalding water slightly painful against his back before his body adjusted to the harsh temperature. He turned towards the faucet hands braced against the wall and letting the hot water rain down on his head. The heat felt good at first but the longer he stayed the more he realized that the pinpricks in his arms and legs wasn't going away. He hadn't really expected the shower to help much but he was still frustrated with the lack of results.

He worked his shampoo into a lather before carefully combing through his already curling locks. He allowed the water to rinse the soap out on its own giving his arms a much-needed rest. Eyeing his conditioner, he couldn't bring himself to skip it and consequently found himself palming a liberal amount just for thinking of doing so. The conditioner felt slimy against his head and he found himself having to embarrassingly hold back tears at the simple texture and how the liberal amount wasn't coming out. Ignoring the pain from his shoulders he scrubbed his head more forcefully wanting to rid himself of the tightness in his throat and the fast beating of his heart. His breath hitched as he finally rinsed the last of it out, tears lost in the spray of his shower head. He knew he was overreacting, but he couldn't stop thinking of the feeling of it on his scalp and on his hands or the feeling of it as it ran down his body in slimy trails.

The water had started to get colder by the time he was almost done, and he pretended the trembling of his hands as he scrubbed his sore appendages was from the temperature. Considering himself thoroughly clean he turned off the now icy water and blindly reached shaky hands towards his towel rack. Toweling off his face and hair he slipped out of the shower and onto his bath mat allowing himself to adjust to the change in surface on his bare feet. His damp hair curled around his ears and he couldn't bring himself to care as much as he normally did, foregoing putting any product in his hair and leaving it in its natural state.

He wrapped the towel securely around his waist before rummaging in his cabinet and reaching for his spare lenses. The thought of just having to insert his contacts right now almost brought upon another bout of nausea. The frames of his spares were a dark brown and rather large for his liking, but he hadn't actually put much thought into it when he got them reasoning that he'd be using his contact lenses anyway since glasses were bad on stage.

His clothes went on without incident the cardigan soft and comforting against his sensitive skin. Feeling warmer already he slipped his phone into the large pocket of his cardigan and tasked himself with brushing his teeth without puking up the meager contents of his stomach. He grimaced at the phantom taste of bile and pushed through rinsing his mouth out with tap water.

A glance at his alarm clock showed the beginnings of 6 am, the light beginning to peak through the thin curtains on his window. He had about another hour before any of the other members of the horsemen would wake up. Making his way across his room he ventured out into the space he shared with the other horsemen. The place was functional nothing too fancy or new but not rundown either. Daniel had stayed in much worse places than this before when he had just been starting not that he's ever admit it. He usually didn't mind the squeaky floorboards or the off-white walls as much, but he was not in the mood today.

He headed straight for the fridge hoping to stock up on some water, so he wouldn't have to leave his room, but the sight of the door partially opened gave him pause. How hard was it to close the fridge properly? The last person he could remember using last night was Henley when she'd made herself some tea. Sure enough when he'd wrenched the door open he could see the jug of milk she'd splashed into her milk last night, impeding the fridge door from closing properly. He made to move it into a position, so it was no longer blocking the door from closing, but he couldn't stop his eyes raking across all the other items in the fridge. The unorganized drawers of miscellaneous items and the sticky nature of the door made his skin crawl more than it already was.

He should ignore it. He should leave it for another day when he was feeling better but the thought of leaving it looking like this filled him with irrational anxiety. The palms of his already shaking hands began to sweat, clenching and unclenching as he debated what to do. He already knew that if he didn't do something about it now he wouldn't be able to relax for the rest of the day. With that line of reasoning he proceeded to search for some gloves and cleaning supplies.

He pulled the bin from beneath the counter and pushed it closer to the fridge. He began by pulling everything that looked old or out of place and tossing them in the trash. He emptied out containers that he'd seen in there for a couple days tossing them in the sink and rearranged everything starting from top to bottom. The whole space got a thorough wipe down the white practically sparkling, a stark difference to the dull grimy color of before. He scanned the greater amount of empty space in the fridge lamenting that they'd probably have to go grocery shopping soon or rather he'd make a list and leave some cash on the counter and either Jack or Henley would make the trip.

Finishing with the fridge he closed it softly before turning towards the sink and began washing the containers he'd emptied. The sound of the water was calming if nothing else steady and easy to concentrate on, so he was caught completely off guard when there was a hand placed on his shoulder. He jerked back at the touch splashing some water onto his shirt and making him wince in pain at the quick movement. He turned around in irritation to see Henley standing there with a faint trace of amusement on her face.

"Morning, didn't mean to scare you there Danny," she said cheerily, eyes locking on to his own as she spied the most recent addition to his face "I didn't know you wore glasses." her hands reaching up as to almost touch his face.

Daniel gave an annoyed huff and a step back from her, his nails digging crescents into the palms of his wet hands. Heart thudding uncomfortably against his chest and his throat tight.

"Let's just add it to the long list of things you don't know then. Like how to say my name properly or knowing how to close the fridge properly after using it. Next time make sure it closes all the way before going to bed, save me some energy and keep me from having this conversation." He replied acerbically, his head pounding uncomfortably despite the ibuprofen he'd taken earlier.

Henley's whole demeaner changed face pinching up in distaste at his tone. Taking her own step away from him.

"It is too early to be dealing with your wonderful personality," she huffed sarcastically, turning away from him. "Talk to me when you start feeling less like yourself."

"I wouldn't have to at all if you could learn to do simple things without being told to." Daniel muttered mostly to himself, but Henley heard him clearly enough.

She stopped abruptly as though to tell him off but continued on choosing to ignore his comment and slammed the door to her room making the tacky frames on the wall rattle.

Daniel stood there for a second trying to get himself under control. His hands slowed their shaking as his heart rate evened out. He'd been a bit nasty to Henley, but she'd startled him and he wasn't really in the mood to deal with anybody at the moment. She was a big girl and she could dish as good as she could take so he wasn't too worried about it. He's said worse things in the past and she always came back. Except for the last time he reminded himself grudgingly. It was too late now, and J. Daniel Atlas was never one to apologize to begin with nor did he really want to.

He gathered a few water bottles from the newly organized fridge and swiped an apple as an afterthought. He didn't want to meet either Jack or Merritt after Henley's little outburst no doubt they'd take her side not that he cared to be honest. He'd just rather not deal with anyone today. His phone buzzed against his abdomen as he closed the door to his bedroom making his eyebrows raise in slight surprise. He wasn't expecting a reply so soon. Unlocking his screen, a single message stood out "Back in a week. Same place. Same time?"

It wasn't ideal for Daniel since a week was stretching it a bit, but he'd lasted longer before and it wasn't really anything he could do about it. He sent back an affirming message before settling back into bed, his back against the headboard reaching for his laptop charging on his nightstand. He'd try to at least be productive today if nothing else, going through the ins and outs of the plan more thoroughly couldn't hurt.

As he typed he tried his best to ignore the trembling of his hands and the itching crawling up his legs. Nobody but him had to know he was failing spectacularly in that aspect.

-.-.-.-

My first story guys feel free to comment I'm basing ocd on the research I've done and how it affects somebody that I know but feel free to correct me if I say something wrong.


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